


no one's gonna take my soul away

by salazarastark



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, DC Extended Universe
Genre: Bottom Clark Kent, Dubious Consent, M/M, Sex Pollen, Top Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-12-27 01:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18294383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salazarastark/pseuds/salazarastark
Summary: Bruce and Clark run into an unknown substance in a warehouse one night.





	no one's gonna take my soul away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Impala_Chick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Impala_Chick/gifts).



> Title is from Lana del Ray's "Gods and Monsters."

Bruce jumps down from the rafters of the warehouse, floor boards shaking from his weight. Clark floats carefully down next to him. His com crackles with static, and he hears Tim’s eager voice, who’s glad to be of some help despite his broken ankle.

“Room’s clear, but there are chemical signatures in the back. It looks they left in a hurry and forgot some things.”

Bruce gives a gruff “Copy” while Clark a warm “Thank you, Robin,” that gets an awe filled “You’re welcome, Superman!,” in response. Bruce resists the urge to roll his eyes. Both Dick and Tim worship the ground Clark walked on (with a small pang, Bruce thinks that Jason would have as well), and there’s something that makes it both incredibly amusing and annoying to see them interact with the man.

He’s noticed that his amusement increases with Clark’s annoyance and his annoyance with Clark’s amusement.

Strange how that works.

He and Clark move towards the back of the warehouse, everything silent but for the chips that Tim is eating.

It's clear that this is one of those moments.

Bruce pushes back the curtain that separates the makeshift lab from what must have been the packing center. He finds nothing and no one back here, but he keeps an eye out for anything that could have caused the chemical signatures that Tim had seen.

It hits him before he can find out.

There is a canister in the room that begins to seep out pink smoke, and next to him, Bruce hears Clark gasp. He turns back to see the man paling, gripping the edge of the table with all his strength and  _ the table is not bending _ . Bruce growls, makes a move towards the canister to turn it off.

He doesn’t get very far before a sweet smell fills the air. He stops dead in his tracks, and he turns to look at Clark, the man still gasping for air, his head tilted in such a way that highlights the lines of his neck, lines that Bruce want to kiss, suck, nip,  _ grip _ .

Clark is looking at him wide blue eyes, and not for the first time, Bruce notices how goregeous the man is. He vaguely hears Tim in his com, asking “What’s wrong?” and “What’s going on?” Bruce just takes it out, crushes it in between his fingers.

He advances on Clark, who stares up at him with those blue eyes and those trembling lips and is shaking. Whatever this is has taken away his powers, and that should be cause for worry, but Bruce can’t find it within himself to worry as he stands before Clark. 

Bruce is only a few inches taller than Clark, but in this moment he feels like Goliath towering above David.

Bruce raises his hand, places a thumb on Clark’s bottom lip. The other hand goes around to grip Clark’s head and pull it back. His breathing is steadying out, getting use to this new kryptonite, but Clark is still not use to have such a mortal body, making him seem even weaker and smaller than a man of his height and stature would appear to be.

It’s many things, the most of which are arousing.

Bruce pulls Clark’s lip down, and all Clark does is stare at him, meeting his gaze. Even like this, when Bruce has all the control, Clark still will not give up what little he still has. That’s precisely what Bruce likes about him.

Bruce leans in suddenly and kisses Clark forcefully, pushing Clark against the table, moving the damn thing backwards and causing everything on it to clatter to the floor. His one hand is still gripping Clark’s hair, the other moved down to his neck and his thumb now on his Adam’s apple.

Clark tastes like apple pie, because of course he does, but he also tastes like smoke and heat and Bruce wants to get drunk on it. He grips Clark to him tighter, pulls his hair a little more, and it takes him a minute to realize that Clark’s trembles have turned into struggles, that he is valiantly fighting to get air, a concern that Bruce usually doesn’t have to take into account.

He pulls back just enough for Clark to take the gulping breaths he needs, waiting for his breathing to achieve a steadier rhythm before he turns Clark around, and slams him over the table.

Clark catches himself with his hands, hisses when he feels the sting on his palms. Bruce doesn’t care.

He wants Clark, wants him so much. Wants to mark and fuck the smooth, pretty, flawless skin beneath him, wants to make Clark cry with pain and pleasure, wants to bring apart this god among men and remind him what it truly means to be worshiped by a mortal.

Clark is floundering to get out his suit, and Bruce is too busy with getting out of his own to help him, but he watches Clark. He has seen many strip teases from many people, all perfect grinding and hair tossing and sensual looks. This desperate desire to get off the suit that prevents Clark from being touched by Bruce is the more erotic than any of those teases.

Despite Bruce having more to take off, they end up naked at the same time, their suits scattered around the floor, and anyone who would come in here now would see and be able to guess who they really were.

Bruce doesn’t even try to pretend that thought doesn’t arouse him.

“What do you want, Clark?” he asks, his voice gruff and demanding, one hand on the small of Clark’s back, the other supporting his weight as he leans to look at Clark’s face. He wants to sink into Clark right now, but there is something in him that has to hear Clark beg for it, demand it.

“You,” Clark whimpers through half-lidded eyes and bruised lips. “Please, please,  _ please _ , Bruce. Just let me have you.”

That’s all Bruce needs to hear. He stands up, the hand on Clark’s back slowly moving down onto his ass. Bruce brings it up, only to bring it back down again on cheek, the sound reverberating throughout the warehouse and Clark makes a wonderful little noise.

Bruce  _ will _ hear that again before the night is over.

He gets on a knee, his hand soothing the slightly red skin. The other hand covers the other cheek, and then Bruce spreads them, until he sees the tight little hole that he is going to ruin tonight.

“Wha-?” Clark manages to get out before Bruce leans in closer and blows, making Clark jerk forward, moving the table another inch. Heavy breathing fills the space, and then Bruce leans forward and  _ licks _ up and down Clark’s crack, making sure to flick his tongue across his hole.

There’s that noise again.

And again and again and again as Bruce licks, nipples, and tongue fucks Clark until a shaky mess, which happens far sooner than Bruce would have thought, until he remembers that Clark has never had sex like a mortal. The poor man must be incredibly over-stimulated right now, feeling these things in a totally new way.

Bruce has a finger join his tongue and Clark screams as he cums.

Bruce laughs as he leans back, laughs even harder when he sees Clark’s shocked face, the surprise that anything could feel like that. He pulls Clark’s hair, angles his head so Bruce can kiss him despite Clark’s small protests. When he decides to let them break apart, he lets Clark’s head drop back to the table.

“That’s just the beginning of what I’m going to do to you tonight, boy,” and Clark whimpers.

It’s exhilarating, knowing the power he has over Clark right now, and the things he can do it with, but it’s tenfolded by how much Clark trusts him not to do anything with it.

Clark is wet from Bruce’s tongue, and Bruce is tempted to slam into him and just make Clark take his cock right now, but he finds that he can’t do it.

Not when he wants to see if he can get Clark to cum again just from fingering.

He enters two fingers in slowly, and smirks when Clark attempts to wiggle back on them.

Jesus, Clark is probably  _ dying _ for Bruce’s cock right now.

Pity that Bruce doesn’t think he’s earned it yet.

He twists his fingers, gently pets the walls inside Clark. He whimpers and claws at the table, still in his refractory period. This over-stimulation must be a lot right now. Clark gasps when Bruce moves his fingers almost entirely out of Clark’s body, and then sinks them slowly back in and Bruce loves it, loves how desperate Clark is for anything that Bruce decides to give him.

He wonders what it would be like to tie Clark down with his finest ties, spread him out wide and torture him with Bruce’s tongue and fingers and cock, buy toys and stuff Clark full, film it so whenever Clark can’t be with now, Bruce can watch him and that stupidly expressive face come undone again and again and again.

Bruce groans at the thought, and Clark makes a noise back, clearly wondering what has Bruce so hot and bothered.

He’ll find out one day. Bruce is going to make that dream a reality.

Kryptonian biology does have one thing on humans, and that’s the refractory period is short as hell. It isn’t long before Clark’s cock is stirring again, and the noises pick up, Clark’s whimpers picking back up as his body regains in interest in what they’re doing.

Bruce knows his fingers are big, and Clark is desperate for them, fucking himself onto them, whimpering and moaning for just a little bit, a little more contact. He moans like a whore, and Bruce wonders how much Clark would take, how full Bruce could stuff him if Clark would let him.

The thought makes his cock throb, and it makes Bruce twist his fingers again, add in a third, stroke Clark’s prostate, pull Clark’s head back with his other hand and watch that pretty neck labor for breath and hear the noises that come out of those red lips.

He’s so fucking beautiful like this, and Bruce is the only person who should ever see him this way, destroyed and needy and  _ wanting _ .

Clark cums again, voice a relieved sob, but he whines when Bruce removes his fingers.

Bruce takes a deep breath. His cock is so hard it almost hurts, and he wants to fuck Clark with it and he wants Clark to suck it.

He walks around to the side of the table, Clark watching him with wide and adoring eyes, mouth opened and wet, already so ready for Bruce’s cock. He guides Clark’s head, and he’s engulfed in the messiest, sloppiest blowjob of his life. Bruce has had far better and none of them could ever compare to this moment. Bruce tilts his head back and groans as Clark manages to get  _ all _ of him in his mouth, twists his hands into Clark’s hair and pulls the soft curls. Clark moans around Bruce’s dick, one of both pleasure and pain, and it’s with that vibration of Clark that makes Bruce come, shooting his cum down Clark’s throat, and Clark, divinely gorgeous Clark, swallows it all and then he even has the fucking gall to lick his lips.

He steps back, and his cock is stirring again already. He notes somewhere in the back of his mind that isn’t normal, but he can’t bring himself to focus too deeply on that. Not when he has Clark in front of him, waiting like a good boy for Bruce’s cock to screw his ass. But until little Bruce wakes all the way up, Clark is just going to have to be content with his fingers, sticking four in at once. He enjoys watching Clark try to control his breathing over the overstimulation.

He rubs Clark’s back, enjoys the tremors, and wonders if fucking his ass would be too much right now, but the idea of Clark getting to that point is a blessed image, and with that Bruce makes his decision. He’s already hard again, and so he removes his fingers, he slams into Clark with so much force, it moves the table yet again, Clark scrabbling and clutching at the smooth, cold surface, mouth pulled into such a perfect, whimpering shape that it somehow manages to make Bruce grow  _ harder _ .

Bruce is grateful for all the stamina training he’s put himself through, just for this moment, when he can make Clark writhe and squirm on his cock.

He pulls almost completely out of Clark, and then slams back in. He watches Clark’s slack face as he fucks him hard and fast, reaches forward and pulls him back by the hair again. Leans down and nips at the back of Clark’s neck and shoulders, enjoys the moans and whimpers that leave him.

This tight ass is all his, his to fuck and own and- and- and-

And Bruce comes with a roar, and Clark makes a strangled noise as he comes for the third time this night, untouched by any hands, and Bruce pushes his forehead until the back of Clark’s neck.

The canister had stopped with it’s pink smoke, and the air began to clear, and with that, things filter in.

What Bruce just did filters in.

He snaps his eyes open as a slow horror fills his body, as Clark begins to shuffle underneath him.

“Bruce?” Clark questions, his voice raw and wrecked, but normal.

Not a needy mess.

Bruce turns back to look at the canister, and hatred fills his soul at the people who  left it here.

He stalks over to it, grabs the container and stares at it, wishing for a moment that he had Clark’s heat vision. Unfortunately, he doesn’t, so he sticks into a holding bag before putting on his suit, being very careful not to look at Clark.

He can’t imagine the man wants to look at him either.

Yet when he finishes getting dressed, he finds himself meeting Clark’s eyes. They’re wide and uncertain, and Bruce can still see the tear marks on his cheeks, his hair wild from how Bruce had pulled at it, and his lips are still bruised, though healing quickly.

He took this man and hurt him, and it makes Bruce’s heart ache.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce says, knowing inadequate it was.

“Why?” Clark asks, his voice honestly wondering and that makes Bruce’s heart break just a little bit more. Does Clark not understand what happened?

“I raped you,” Bruce says, unable to keep the disgust he feels toward himself out of his voice. “I understand if you want to press charges against me. I won’t fight it, but I ask that you just give me a day to make sure that everything will pass smoothly into Tim’s hands once I go to prison.”

“Bruce, you didn’t rape me,” Clark says flabbergasted. Bruce opens his mouth to contradict that, but Clark simply puts a hand up. “I wanted it and you wanted it as much as we could. If you raped me, then I raped you, possibly even more so if we want to quantify it because. . . .” Clark’s smile goes brittle and his gaze flicks down. “Because I have thought about doing that with you for months now.”

Bruce’s mouth goes dry. “I have . . . wondered what it would be like to have sex with you.”

A small, but true, smile cracks upon Clark’s face. “That’s good to know. I hoped it lived up to your expectations.”

He says it as an awkward joke, but Bruce hears the shy question in it.

Bruce smiles, one that he knows matches Clark’s. “It exceeded them.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you liked it!


End file.
